


i’m dying slow (but the devil tryna rush me)

by heidiyah



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Characters, M/M, ambiguous ending too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:48:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heidiyah/pseuds/heidiyah
Summary: five times Hong Jisoo met the so-called Fantastic Four, and one time he thought maybe he had fallen in love with one.(or a fucked up story about a secret agent, and the triple (k)ill, and a secret hidden for so long.)





	i’m dying slow (but the devil tryna rush me)

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted, with some minor editing, which does not change or affect the plot. Title is taken from Sucker for Pain (Suicide Squad OST).

 

  

0.

 

It was a zigzag line, Jisoo’s life. The deepest point was about seven years ago, when he realized he had killed someone for the first time. Then that self-proclaimed agent career kept going along with the line, higher, higher, until he reached the peak—when he met the he-thought-so Fantastic Four.

Okay, scratch that. The Fantastic Four was _way too_ normal compared to these four unstable teenagers who lived right next to his small flat. He used to think his job was the weirdest thing that ever happened, traveling across the Atlantic to keep track of some politicians, making sure that they did not burn the whole Ghana on fire and all, but apparently he was wrong.

Burning Ghana was nothing. And meeting the boy creating this Earth was definitely _something_.

The very first obstacle in Jisoo’s orbit began at half past two in the morning, with rough knocks against the front door and a loud shout _“Jihoon, open the goddamn door!”_. He had no idea, Jisoo. Who the hell was Jihoon and what did the fucking stranger want from him at _two_ _A.M._? He tried to ignore that and continued to sleep, but Jisoo was absolutely not a heavy sleeper. The sound slowly faded, but Jisoo heard the stranger groan desperately. Really, he had a secret meeting at eight, then in the evening he had to fly to Russia to follow a notorious criminal, there was no way he let some drunken boy stumble over his schedule. By interrupting his scarcely precious sleep.

Which he already did.

Jisoo groaned too. Two A.M. Too early to wear the cape, transforming into a silly superhero and saving the day. Which he actually did. Actually got out of the bed, rubbing the eyes roughly to dispel the sleep away. He was slowly under way to the door when he tripped over the chair and nearly fell. Cursing under his breath, Jisoo opened the door, with the dizziness still fucking over his head as he saw the blond boy—the culprit ruining his peaceful sleep at two-fucking-A.M.

To be fair, the stranger was gorgeous. Thin frame, small eyes, high cheekbones and full pale lips, he reminded Jisoo of a freshman, too young to be corrupted, but far too old to look like a high schooler. A piece of innocence that Jisoo had not been seeing for a very long time, so long that he had completely lost.

(Secret agent Hong Jisoo, never failed to keep track of anyone, ended up losing track of his very own.)

The stranger was obviously taken back by Jisoo’s appearance. “You… are not Jihoon.” He murmured, looking sheepish.

“Joshua, nice to meet you.” Jisoo considered using his real name, but really, he was a secret agent. Which meaned everything personal about him was not supposed to be revealed. Especially with a stranger showing up at his door at two in the morning. The boy did not look drunken, so Jisoo thought maybe this was just a misunderstading. Alright, Jisoo just had to shoo him away, then he would climb back to his bed, curling up around his cozy pillows and not giving a fuck about the whole universe until seven—

“Oh, so you are Hong Jisoo!” Suddenly the boy exclaimed. He looked around the empty hall for a moment, then came back to Jisoo, apparently not noticing Jisoo’s shocked visage. “Nice to meet you too! Sorry for waking you up at two, I’m just looking for Jihoon’s house, you know, the small man with white skin and sharp eyes… and I thought yours was the one. Anyway, do you know which…” He swung his arm in the air carelessly. “is Jihoon’s flat?”

Jisoo shook his head slightly, still not recovering from the bolt from the blue.

“Oh.” The boy slumped. He turned on his heels and gave Jisoo a polite wave. “Guess I have to find on my own then. See you later, Jisoo.” With that, he started to run along Jisoo’s threshold, soon becoming a small point in his still blurred sight. Five minutes later, Jisoo found himself standing still at the door, absolutely out of his mind.

Really, what the fuck had just happened?

 

 

1.

 

He would never count that unexpected meeting as the first time. Fucking never.

So, this so-called first time happened a month later or so, on a Sunday morning, after a whole week hard-working as usual, and Jisoo just wanted to relax. Fucking around with some movies and Starbucks and ordered pizzas, with Tupac’s _Life Goes On_ rambling around the flat. As he tried to brush off agent works in his brain, filling it with several seasons of _Game of Thrones_ instead, full of rigmaroles and boobs and all, Jisoo heard a small knock.

So small, so vague that for a second, Jisoo thought it was his imagination. Because his eyes had not been leaving the TV for three hours straight, and there were so much boobs and sex scenes—enough to made him become delusional.

But he stood up anyway. That was enough for a Sunday morning. He yawned, opening the door wearily, and there were two young boys arguing at his threshold. Jisoo thought he should be taken back with this unpredicted visitors, but maybe he was too tired to be so. He was only a bit surprised by looking at the blond boy—the one that interrupted him at two last month, the one that knew his real name although he gave him a fake one. He remembered the boy had described a man named Jihoon, which matched the boy next to him completely. That small figure with white skin and sharp eyes, even looked younger than the blond. They were half arguing, half laughing at something that Jisoo was far too confused about those _Game of Thrones_ ’ boobs—no, this sudden visit to realize.

The smaller boy’s laugh soon died out as he saw Jisoo’s perplexed look. He reached out his right hand, and Jisoo caught it, shaking politely. He smiled a bit, which made Jisoo’s muscles unreasonably tense up.

“Hong Jisoo, right?” The boy asked.

Okay, now he understood why every damn muscle of his stretch. Since when did strangers know exactly who he was? What was that for, hiding his true identity away from the society, being an _agent_ who was meant to be _nobody_ , and now—only one month and there were these two boys coming from nowhere, standing right at his door, calling his name like they were old friends and this was no more than a regular visit.

Hong Jisoo must have been plastered or something, because this was not even supposed to be _real_.

“First time I met him, he looked exactly like this too.” Said the blond, with a small chuckle. “I thought because it was two o’clock in the morning, but maybe not then.”

“I beg your pardon?” Jisoo asked surprisingly, because yes, he was meant to be fucking surprised about this. What was going on here, really?

“Don’t mind him.” The small boy told Jisoo, ignoring the blond’s _hey!_ behind. He gave Jisoo a skeptical look, but Jisoo could tell there was amusement in his black eyes too. “I watched _The Avengers_ you know. Been wondering about Black Widow and her secret agent stuff for a while—can’t believe that I had made such a beautiful woman like that… and then Soonyoung arrived at my flat at _three_ in the morning,” Jisoo nodded sympathetically at that, which made the boy’s smile wider. “stumbling and yelling about an awesome agent living next door, so I was curious, and then we came to see you. A bit ridiculous, yeah?”

 _Far too ridiculous._ “No, it is fine.” Jisoo nodded again, but as he started to repeat the boy’s words in his head, he stiffened. “Wait—what do you mean by _making a beautiful woman?_ ”

The blond boy sticked his tongue out. “He slept with Scarlet Johansson’s mother.” Paying no attention to the other one’s glare, he grinned at Jisoo. “Soonyoung. And this is Jihoon.” He patted Jihoon’s shoulder. “Remember that night? Turned out Jihoon’s flat was next to you, it took twenty minutes for me to figure out that.”

“Because you are an idiot.” Jihoon mumbled, but Soonyoung shrugged like he did not care much. “Anyway, this Soonyoung told me that you were an agent, which is cool—man, how were the gadgets? The fights? Do you conflict with criminals like Joker or Bane or Ultron—”

“You should stop reading comics, really, Jihoon, that was just Mingyu’s trick—”

“At least Scarlet is beautiful.” Jihoon snapped. It took about five minutes later did he seem to realize that Jisoo was still here before turning to him and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. You must be confused right?”

Like hell he was not. “What is  _that_?” He demanded.

Jihoon cleared his throat; he looked more serious then, like he was going to admit that he had really slept with Johansson’s mother, rather than introduce himself more specifically. He had his arms folded across his chest, a frown on his face. Jihoon looked like something. Something immortal, _impenetrable_ , like a nightsky, always remained untouchable and sempiternal. Jisoo was not sure, but he was certain that there was something about him, Soonyoung as well, is strange. So strange that his whole agent thing here was just a lame joke.

“I am the Illustrator.” Jihoon slowly said. “And Soonyoung was the Illuminator.”

Jisoo felt like he was on Mars. “Huh.”

“Told you he would not believe it.” Soonyoung sighed.

“I even don’t know what you are talking about.” Jisoo winced. So he grabbed the chance—asked the questions that had been annoying him since they showed up at his door. “Why do you guys know my name? And the agent stuff?” Okay, that _Illuminator_ thing sounded like Illuminati and all those creepy stories Jisoo had read on the Internet, but Soonyoung? He looked too pure to be like that. Or maybe he was damn good at hiding his true self. Which was really risky, to Jisoo. Which Jisoo the agent should not take at his own risk, in fact. (He was an _agent_ after all. What was that title for if this blond little guy scared him?)

Jihoon snorted at that, but his expression—all gentle and patient, like a grandpa trying to explain a fairytale to his lovely grandchild—remained unchanged. “Well, to simplify,” he looked a bit uncomfortable, kept folding his fingers, then loosening them, while his face was still flat. “um, well—I create things, which invent things that can do things.”

Jisoo did not feel like he was on Mars anymore; he was actually on fucking Saturn. Before he started to, he did not know, maybe he could have startled, or screamed, or fainted; but Soonyoung saved him by cutting him off. “Jihoon sucks at English.” He said nonchalantly. “But he really does so. He creates practically _everything_ ; okay, maybe not those equipments and phones, but _lives_. Lives make conveniences, and conveniences are just… convenient.” Soonyoung pointed at himself, his chest was a bit stuck out. “Jihoon makes concepts, and I make them real, before they were twisted throughout their lifetime by—”

“Concepts?” Jisoo repeated curiously.

“Implementation is a nice word.” Soonyoung stated. “Imagine there is a film studio, like Marvel, yeah? Jihoon is the one drawing characters and lives and all that stuff; and I, being the greatest Illuminator of all time, I bring them into real actions. Real moves, real breaths, real faces, real _everything_. Except for sometimes when Jihoon is quite out of control, he will build things himself; like that one time he accidentally invented daddy kink…”

“Again, Soonyoung, I did not create that; it was just a little imagination and suddenly one day Mingyu ran into the house and shouted like the end of the world but end up it was just him passing by a couple shagging and the girl called the other one _daddy_ …”

“Ladies.” Jisoo sighed. Both of the boys gave him a hard look; like he had revealed that he actually worked for Illuminati, instead of trying to calm them down. “Really, I still don’t know what is going on.”

“Just simply think like this.” Jihoon chuckled. “We create this Earth. I draw it, and Soonyoung does the rest of the job. I make lives, Jisoo. Including you, of course. You humans grow up and build this world all by yourself, all these conveniences, all these inventions, seriously that still impressed me for centuries… can’t believe this world—from an absolutely desolate land—have become like this. Full of wonders and _secret agent_.” He laughed when Jisoo threw his head back with an _urgh_. “It is a miracle, really.”

So let’s get this straight: the boys living next to Jisoo’s flat were abnormal beings. Jihoon, the Creator, the Painter, the Illustrator, the _whatever_ —he made everyone in this world, including him, and maybe people he befriended with, too. And Soonyoung, that naïve boy was an Illuminator, he explained the notions made by Jihoon, he turned them into real. More specific: that little guy standing in front of Jisoo had built Jisoo, and the blond next there brought him to life. He had just met his _creators_.

The thought hit his brain like a meteor, and he thought he might explode right then, because it was far too ridiculous—maybe these two lads were just mental and talked nonsense, but again, they seemed too sane to be insane like that. He should check the calendar again to make sure that today was not April 1st, just in case this was another lame joke people tried to dumb him every year. But last time he remembered, the number of the current month was bigger than four.

Jisoo was absolutely fucked.

“Oh, now he looks a bit accepted.” Soonyoung whistled. “Don’t be surprised, really; just take us as conventional things in your life. We are not that bizarre, right?”

“Yes we are.” Jihoon countered. He seemed to know more clearly about his identity than Soonyoung did, so maybe later if they ever bumped into each other again, Jisoo would believe in Jihoon then. “It’s a mess to you, we know. But we just want to say hi. And honestly, your life is awesome; a lot more than ours.” He smiled sadly, his fingers scuffing the other hand nervously. “Being immortal, stucking in this world is not that exciting like they said, don’t you think?”

Maybe. It was not like Jisoo had never read stories about immortal beings. Vampires, werewolves, he had watched a lot. And Jisoo knew it was hard, trying to get through this world, like getting lost in a dark tunnel, knowing that there was no escape. Jisoo’s career was dirty, complicated and messy; it was like he had to take care of other people—strangers that Jisoo never knew, and for once they met, but for all Jisoo would never see them again—instead of he himself. He was all alone, traveling here and there, passing too much faces, hearing so many voices that he found no interest in making friends anymore. A long day hard working, then he would go straight home, having a serene night before dawn and he had to collect himself to wear the usual mask, then continued working. But at least, that took a lot of actions, not sitting at home and doing nothing like Jihoon and Soonyoung, stuck in this world forever. And ever.

“Well. Gotta go.” Jihoon said again, his grimace faded away. He stepped backwards, hiding his hands behind his back, and next to him, Soonyoung chuckled a little. “We’ll see each other again, yeah? And in case you are still incredulous, you are Hong Jisoo. Twenty two, currently working as an agent for the government. Your family is living in Los Angeles, but you had not kept in touch with them for a while; and you are single.” Jihoon smiled gently when Jisoo blushed at the last word. “And we are not stalkers.”

“Even stalkers can not know those information.” Jisoo hissed. “But you did not sleep with my mother, yeah?”

That made Jihoon burst into laugh; he even laughed down Soonyoung’s restrained giggles, and in that moment, Jisoo swore Jihoon looked so young, younger than Soonyoung, than him, than the rest of the world, absolutely no match for his true unbelievable self. “No, I swear I did not do that.” Jihoon tried to reply between his cealess laughs. “But yeah, you and Johansson are brothers.” And Jisoo smiled too; it was hard no to do such with Jihoon and Soonyoung, all young and mischievous standing at his threshold, entertaining him like some old friends having nostalgic conversations.

“Next door.” Soonyoung reminded. “If you want to have a chat or a shitty drink, just ring the bell. We always welcome you.”

“Um. Thanks.” Jisoo coughed. Soonyoung reached out a hand and patted his shoulder.

“Later, dude.” He gave Jisoo one last look before tugging Jihoon’s shirt and making way to the elevator, their laughs still lingered among the air until they got into the lift and closed the door. And for the rest of the day, Jisoo kept smiling like a boring man had just found out his life goal, rather than discovered that he had just made friends with some weirdos claming to be supernaturals.

 

 

2.

 

Although they were considered to be friends—or acquaintances—Jisoo did not have any chance to see them again for the rest of the month. He was drowned in working and working, and in the last week of that August, he had to leave the city to fly to Argentina to investigate a mafia case, end up being founded out and was almost dragged into a fight. The mission did not go well obviously, and finally Seokmin had to replace Jisoo with another agent, telling him that he had tried his best, and he was permitted to have a week off to recover.

Jisoo felt half offended, half relieved. The case drained all his energy away, but he somehow thought maybe Seokmin looked down on him, but Jisoo had no choice. The bruise on his left arm got worse, thanks to the fucking mafia boss and his muscular bodyguards, and he returned home not so none the worse for wear.

The two first days off, he spent time looking at the mirror, tried not to complain about how miserable he was. There were bandages everywhere on his skin, and the bruise was not covered; it was bare and wet, glowing weakly under the lights of the room. No wonder Seokmin insisted on sending Jisoo back home. Even if he continued his mission, he would never make it out with such injuries.

Seokmin did not disregard him. He just cared for Jisoo and that was all. He kept repeating that in his head for a while as he suddenly remembered some lads called _Jihoon_ and _Soonyoung_.

The unnatural boys living next door. Jihoon the Illustrator and Soonyoung the Illuminator.

He had promised to visit them. Right. He was tired, but maybe visiting them could cheer him up. They were funny anyway, a right dosage of medicine he needed right then.

Jisoo let out a shaky breath, then he got up, leaving his bruise bare and uncovered as he made way to the front door. He dropped by the kitchen to collect some muffins, maybe the boys would like to eat those though. Jisoo stood at the threshold for seconds, laughing quietly while remembering almost a month ago, there were two strangers stumbling over just right where he stood to introduce themselves as _supernaturals_ and knew exactly who Jisoo was. He kept smiling through the short way to the door next to his house, a dark brown one, and he knocked shyly.

To his surprise, the door was opened slowly, but there was no one behind it. He looked around the empty hall, absolutely confusing. The door must have not been locked, but who would take suck a risk? He knew Jihoon and Soonyoung were not like him and all this humanity, but security was something they should consider equally to all people. The boys must have lived long to know that the world was no longer secure. Making a mistake and you would be stabbed, welcome to the very Earth.

Jisoo sighed; he silently walked through the door, closed it behind his back. Maybe Jihoon and Soonyoung were in their rooms. He made a mental note to remind them later about this door thing. Just neighbors being good to neighbors.

He opened the first door in the hall, and stand at the edge nervously. It looked like a living room, with a couch lying lazily at the center. There were stuff that made the room _look_ really like a living room: a TV set hung on the wall, modern stereo system was put beneath; abstract paintings stuck on the other wall, crimson rugs stretched out on the floor, under the sofa.

This did not look like Immortal-and-Undead-and-Godlike-beings’ house at all. This looked like Rich-kids-did-not-know-how-to-use-money’s house. He was damn bewildered, he had actually considered to leave the flat and locked himself in his own bedroom and never saw Jihoon and Soonyoung again, but there was a voice—quite low, did not match Jihoon’s or Soonyoung’s voice, or what Jisoo could vaguely recall—behind his back. “Who are you?”

He should not hiss, really; but he did. He did, and Jisoo, being clumsy, not so professional like when working, he stumbled over the threshold and dropped the muffins held in his hands. _Ouch_. He whined in his head, but somehow Jisoo managed not to trip over. It was not until he could finally balance himself did he turn to look at where the voice chimed.

It was a boy, an absolutely unfamiliar boy standing at the door, looking at him defensively. He looked a bit old, with silver messy hair and sharp eyes like Jihoon, but he was way taller than the latter. He was holding the muffin that Jisoo had accidentally dropped, a doubtful look kept roaming over Jisoo. There was something intimidating about the boy Jisoo could not tell. Like there was always tension inside him. Like a lion playing with its prey before stabbing its claws into the flesh.

“Um.” Jisoo started. “I’m looking for the two boys called Jihoon and Soonyoung. Is this their house? They dropped by my house a couple of weeks ago, and I just want to say hi to them.”

For a second, the boy still kept his face flat; but then, there was recognition sparkling in his eyes, and every alert seemed to all disappear. “Oh. You must be Hong Jisoo, the secret agent then?” Jisoo nodded, which made the boy’s eyes brighter. “Jihoon and Soonyoung kept talking about you since that meeting. I was curious about you. A lot.” He confessed with a grin. “But everytime I went to your house, you were nowhere to be seen. Soonyoung said that you were freaked out of him and Jihoon so you decided to move out.”

“No.” Jisoo groaned. “I was doing my mission for the last few weeks, so I had to leave the house.”

“Mission? Cool!” The boy exclaimed blissfully, the early coldness had been brushed off his gorgeous face completely. “Did you use guns? Shot the guards down and said philosophical shits like _‘life is all about this—kneeling down to my feet’_? Fuck, Black Widow is so cool man, I never thought that I would have a chance to encounter a true agent in real life—”

“First, I did not use guns.” Jisoo raised a hand to signal the boy to stop talking. The boy obeyed unpleasantly. “Because they found out me. Two, there is really no time for philosophy, young man; if I shot them down, then I have to grab the very chance to escape quickly to return home all safe and sound. Three, don’t believe the media.” He laughed as the boy slumped at the sentence. “The job is very hard, and requires so much things, and will drain your energy until you are nothing but a breathing corpse.”

“You mean these bruises?” The boy pointed at the bruise on Jisoo’s arm, and he nodded calmly. “Well, it was my job then. Sorry.” He gave the muffic back to Jisoo, smiling anxiously. “I’m Mingyu, by the way. If it was anyone else, I would let that pie drop. But I figured out Jihoon would punish me to clean the floor for the rest of my life if he knew about this, so I just had to change my job a bit. You are damn blessed then, Jisoo.”

“What do you mean by _your job_?” Jisoo asked. But deep inside, he kinda knew the answer anyway. “You are _something_ then?”

The boy— _Mingyu_ —shrugged. “Everyone has to be something in their lives.”

Jisoo pulled a face. Mingyu chuckled, his lips curving mischievously like a kid fucking around with his pranks. “Yes, if that’s what you want to know. I’m the Illusionist. I create tricks during one’s lifetime. For example if you don’t understand, I made those bruises on your arms.”

Did he think he was on Saturn last time? Because he was on Pluto actually; all opaque with this Mingyu the _something-called-Illusionist_ that had fucked his mind up. But he got used to it since the day Soonyoung bumped into his house. And admit it, his life was way too unstable and lunatic. “No.” He protested. Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “It was that damn bodyguard who made these wounds in a sudden attack, not you. You were _here_ when I was _there_.”

“Did Jihoon really come to every hospital in the world for the moment babies were born?” Mingyu snorted. “No, thank you very much. ‘sides, I own every sudden moment in the world. The tricks I made push people into troubles, and then pull them out if they are lucky.” He looked down at Jisoo’s bruises. “If unlucky, they die.”

Jisoo shivered; the thought of him, lying defenselessly on the foreign ground of Argentina, could have died because he was not lucky enough made him start to scare this Mingyu a little. “Is that cruel?” He asked, his grip around the muffin cake tightened. “Killing them by using _tricks_? You are fully aware of that, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Mingyu raised his voice; and although the atmosphere was damn tense, Mingyu’s voice, which sounded like a crow shrieking made Jisoo smile softly. “I don’t kill. That was the other’s job, not mine. But you are fully aware of the cycle of life right? Why would it be my false since I just follow _it_? That’s conspicuous, you know. Everyone needs Jihoon and Soonyoung to exist, but they need _me_ to survive. Without me—the storms—the hurricanes—will they ever really _live_ for once in their lives?”

Jisoo was silent. Mingyu kept looking at him, like he was expecting an answer. Finally, Jisoo sighed, put his pride down and admitted. “I guess not.”

Mingyu let out a breathless laugh, as if he had been holding his breath since his last respond up to then. Jisoo shook his head, then pulled out the muffin. “Muffin?” Mingyu took it, mumbled a _thank you_ quickly before eating a huge piece of the pie, swallowing it with satisfication spreading widely on his face.

“You should go home.” He said, after finish the muffin. “Jihoon and Soonyoung won’t be back home until tomorrow. And I have to go out too. There’s Seungcheol, but he had not been talking to you kind for quite a long time, guess he did not want to associate with you anyway.”

Jisoo bit his lips. “Seungcheol? How many people are there living in this family?”

“Only four.” Mingyu replied. “Me, Soonyoung, Jihoon and Seungcheol. We are not that kind of so-called family, just like brothers living together. Soonyoung complained about Seungcheol’s quietness, Jihoon being so neat it annoys me, I love Game of Thrones and stay up all night to watch it. We’re that kind of living style.”

“Isn’t that family style?” Jisoo repeated, but Mingyu just shrugged, like he did not care much about that. “Alright. Tell Soonyoung and Jihoon to drop by my house if they are back home, will you?”

Mingyu nodded. “I will. Nice to meet you anyway.” His lips tucked into a friendly smile. “I am still wondering about your job. _Secret agent_. I know I have said this word too many times, but that’s freaking cool man. _Really, really cool_.”

“Thanks; I do not know that then.” Jisoo said by the time he grabbed the front door knob. It was true—he always saw his job as something dangerous, risky, a forest being delusinally deformed by the stupid media, not as _cool_ like Mingyu described. But being admired by the three Creators of this Earth—yes, _that_ was cool, but he would keep that in mind, rather than say it out loud.

“Then you know now.” Was Mingyu’s simple rejoinder.

And Jisoo just hummed quietly in respond, before closing the door. Later, when he went to his company’s private training center, met Seokmin there with a mild pat on the shoulder (“long time no see, Jisoo! You are not really dead then!” Seokmin laughed as Jisoo glared at him), he missed all the marks in his gun shooting session.

After shooting for more than half an hour, Seokmin met Jisoo with a bewildered face. “Your bruises has turned you into shit.” He pouted. “What a pity, man.”

At once, Jisoo silently wondered if this was Mingyu’s job, too.

 

 

3.

 

Fuck. Fuck September the first. Fuck the dim moonlight wandering on his hair. Fuck the cold and empty space in his bed. Fuck him. Fuck everything.

He had caught a cold, and he had been moping around his flat for the whole damn day, but it did not fade away. Instead, his head just kept getting heavier and heavier, and it hurt like hell. Earlier, he had tried to call Seokmin, but Seokmin just made him more miserable.

“You are definitely the most unlucky man I’ve ever seen.” through the line, Seokmin’s voice sounded less sarcastical than Jisoo’s expectation. “What kind of cold can drag Hong Jisoo the Magnificent down that easily?”

“Fuck off.” Jisoo grumbled. “I should make new friends and replace you with them. You are the worst.”

“No I’m not.” Seokmin countered. “Here I am, phoning you, trying to calm you down, and you told me that I’m a bad fellow? Nice try dude.”

Had he been better, he would kick Seokmin’s ass for that. But Jisoo knew the man was right—he was so miserable. Being beaten by a _cold_ , while he was a damn agent. He was expected to be strong. Not this weak, all fucked up with headaches and sore limbs. He heard Seokmin talking, but his voice was so vague Jisoo could not hear him at all; instead, he murmured _I have to go_ to Seokmin, then ended the call. He threw his phone somewhere onto the nightstand, and drowned himself into a dreamless sleep.

 

—

 

Jisoo woke up to someone rubbing his back gently.

His first thought was an alert about burglars, but these hands were just too gentle to steal anything from his house away. He bet they even could not carry the Vaio out of his room. But again, if there weren’t burglars, then whose hands was this? If this was a ghost, then he would sacrifice his life anyway—he was too damn tired to defend himself, or to run around, keeping himself safe.

The foreign hands just kept circling his back, touching his nape softly, then carressing his messy hair, like a mother lulling her child to sleep. It was something between those gentle fingers and feather touches that made Jisoo feel nostalgic; no one had ever done this to him ever since he moved out, away from his family to ensure their safety, as well as his identity, and his job. Being a secret agent practically stole all of Jisoo’s life away; from his home, to his friends, even his memories were buried deep down inside him. Because he was not allowed to feel a thing during mission. Because—he would never admit, but—sometimes, when traveling abroad, seeing things that used to be his childhood, Jisoo had to practice abstinence to keep himself from spiraling into sorrow again. Missing a part that would never return to him anymore.

And there were those hands, scrawling on his body meaningless words, trying to ease his pain, and it really did. What a miracle.

But again, whose hands were this?

“You awake?”

A voice, foreign just like that time when he met Mingyu, scrambling into his ear. He shook his head lightly, and he hear the stranger laughing quietly. It took him five minutes to finally roll over and took a look at the stranger’s visage, which was gleaming under the moonlight outside. It was a boy for no doubt; he was pale, his big eyes were staring at him worriedly. Long pupils casted small and thin shadows over his low eyelids, all of such beautiful features made Jisoo unreasonably overwhelmed; he blinked at the boy, not sure how to reply to his words right.

“I don’t know you.” Finally, he said. His voice was raspy from sleep, but the boy seemed not to care much about that.

The boy nodded his head. “Of course you don’t.”

“And you were in my house at midnight.”

“It is one fifteen already.”

Jisoo sighed. “Tell me you are not from Jihoon’s crew. Because that is the only way to explain all of this shit.”

The boy started to laugh. His laugh was childlike, with pure happiness and no malice. He reached out a hand. For a moment, Jisoo thought he wanted to shake hands with him, but he was so tired that he even could not grip the offered hand; but then the boy leaned forward and put the hand on his hot forehead. He was deadly silent in a while before whispering right to his ear. “Damn, you are so hot.”

“Thank you. For both meanings.” Jisoo smiled wearily, earning another small laugh from the boy. Finally, he pulled himself back to the chair and started to talk, the voice was louder this time.

“I’m Seungcheol. And yes, I’m from Jihoon’s crew. I live with them for a while.”

Seungcheol. That was the name Mingyu had mentioned last time they met. Jisoo tried to recall whatever Mingyu had said about Seongcheol, that _he had not been talking to you kind for quite a long time_ , that _he did not want to associate with you anyway_. Yet here he was, sitting in front of Jisoo, like a doctor caring for his patient despite whatever time it was, smiling encouragingly to him, and trying to soothe his pain by rubbing his back. And bringing all memories Jisoo had tried to forget for so long back to him.

“So, what _Ill_ you are then?” Jisoo asked, biting his bottom lip. “Illuminist? Illuvia?”

Even in the dark, Jisoo could feel Seungcheol tensing up. “It’s only ill, actually.” Seungcheol replied slowly. “I’m the Illness. You could tell my life from the word, don’t you?”

And, oh.

_Oh._

Jisoo hid his face in the pillow and coughed roughly before turning his head to Seungcheol again, asking with a grating voice. “You made me like this?”

“Technically, yes.” Seungcheol grimaced, but he nodded anyway. “Emotionally, no. I don’t want any people to be like this. I never want to.”

“Then what’s this?” Jisoo asked. He left the subject in his sentence blank, but he knew Seungcheol _knew_ the one he was asking about.

“I just follow the Cycle.” Seungcheol told him quietly, with guilt mixing in every word. “And the other day… I eavesdropped on you and Mingyu.”

“Oh.” Jisoo did not know what to say anymore.

His voice must be apathetic then, because the next thing he knew, Seongcheol replied immediately, and guilt was even more obvious in his tone. “I swear I did not do that on purpose! It’s just… you and Mingyu were talking near my room, and I haven’t met a human for so long I was inquisitive. You must know that before all of this, Jihoon never let any human into his flat _that_ easily. You must be special to be his exception.”

“I am a secret agent.” Jisoo tried not to make his voice sound flat, but he failed again.

Seongcheol smiled. “I know. Mingyu talked about that non-stop. About you are so cool, that he should have made you sign for him and all, and I was impressed.” He pinned his hand on Jisoo’s forehead so he could not sit up properly. Jisoo groaned in protest, but he obeyed him, lying down on his back. “Stay here; I will find you some tea to drink.”

“Hey.” Before Seungcheol stood up, Jisoo cut him off by a quiet call. “You do not cause disasters by touching people, do you?”

Seungcheol was taken back for a second before shaking his head confusingly, as if he was unsure of what Jisoo meaned. “Um, no?”

And Jisoo just waited for that; he suddenly tugged Seungcheol’s shirt, dragging him down to the bed. He ignored Seungcheol’s hiss in pain, moving himself until Seungcheol matched the empty space right, until his hiss finally faded away, then he smiled sheepishly, swallowing every Seungcheol’s feature as the boy looked up to him, an amused expression was hidden behind long pupils and dark warm eyes.

So they were alike. So Seungcheol never experienced this—or he had not done this for so long, just like Jisoo. Maybe that was why Seongcheol gave in so easily, slipping into Jisoo’s warm and feverish grip, rolling in his chest as if they were lovers, as if Jisoo had known him for a thousand years, not just several minutes ago. He heard Seungcheol giggling, bumping his back softly like he had no clue whether to hug him, or kick him out of bed. “You are fucking terrible at cuddling.” Seungcheol said, burying his face in the crook of Jisoo’s neck. “Also bad at asking people to cuddle. You must be very alone, aren’t you?”

Indeed he was. Every fucking time since he decided to leave Los Angeles. When traveling, when doing missions, when staying at home whether it was a lazy Sunday, or a hot Tuesday. When hiding among people to follow the track of the target, when sleeping on the couch to the sound of One Direction’s If I Could Fly soaring into the air. He was all by himself, never been with anyone before, living like a lone wolf roving around this world, an endless journey befriending with the sky, the wind, the smell of asphalt, and the foliage beneath his feet.

“So are you.” Jisoo whispered, not sure if Seungcheol heard that, but he pulled Seungcheol closer to him, burying his nose in Seungcheol’s hair, hearing silence pouring into the room until there were only small noises when they moved slightly against each other.

It was peaceful, the way Jisoo never felt before. Never had he lied on this bed with someone being held tightly in his embrace like this. There used to be only vacancies around him, and an empty feeling filled his stomach. But now, there was Seungcheol, his warm figure, his lips wandering on Jisoo’s neck, a fucking _Illness_ he was hugging so tight, trying to overshadow him with his own body.

And how miraculous it was, for being _Illness_ himself, but Seungcheol seemed to chase all of Jisoo’s sickness away. Just by staying with him, falling asleep next to him, warming his soul up without even knowing about that.

 

 

4.

 

“So,” Mingyu faked coughing, a smirk was shaped on his lips. “Choi Seungcheol, the Illness, the anti-social brother of mine, the ‘I don’t want to meet people who end up being killed by me’ boy had broken into your flat weeks ago, and you shagged him.”

Jisoo just rolled his eyes in respond. It had been two weeks since he met Seungcheol, and from that day, Seungcheol always snuck into his house at midnight to curl up next to him, excusing that he did not want to leave Jisoo all alone. He was glad, Jisoo; at that time, he did not want to be alone at all, although he had been alone for most of the time. He realized he just needed to see the door of his bedroom opening at exactly ten at night, and Seungcheol climbed on his bed, rolling up in Jisoo’s blanket, and Jisoo swore the smell of Seungcheol’s shampoo mixing with his own flavor was the most beautiful scent he had ever seen.

Maybe the idea of Seungcheol leaving Jihoon’s flat was something, because before Jisoo could open his mouth to protest, Soonyoung had cut him off by a loud noise. Even Jihoon stiffened, but he gave Seungcheol a smug look like he wanted to say _see, I told you_.

“You _what_?” Soonyoung asked. Next to him, Mingyu’s smirk just grew wider.

“We did not shag, if that’s what you are asking.” Seungcheol muttered, but Jisoo know he was jubilated; he even had to bite his lips to prevent himself from smiling, which made something inside Jisoo explode instantly.

“Well, you guys cuddled, you watched _Game of Thrones_ at three in the morning, you would have kissed in my flat but for Soonyoung’s sudden coming, so you are definitely shagging.” Jihoon reasoned. “That’s good though; I was worried that Seungcheol would turn into a psychopath because he had locked him up for so long, and now he is snogging with the neighbor next door who happens to be an agent—that’s fine.”

“That’s freaking awesome!” Soonyoung laughed. “Behold, the one we always thought to be the last of us having a date turned out to be the very first one! This is pure drama—like, I never imagine Black Widow shagging Batman, but—”

“Soonyoung, just drop it please.” Jisoo sighed, but he was smiling. Because fuck, he was meant to be. Because Seungcheol looked at him with a small tug on his lips, because damn he was attract to this boy so much he was gonna explode. Like a thousand fireworks.

That was the first time he encountered the four boys altogether; Soonyoung and Mingyu lying lazily on the sofa, Jihoon was busy testing the stereo system, and Seungcheol… Seungcheol just simply sat next to Jisoo, lacing their fingers together and trying to avoid his look. He was eager, yet shy at the same time, which absolutely drove Jisoo crazy; he had just met the guy for weeks, and he felt like he had been attracted to him for years.

Somewhere during the little gathering, Jisoo felt Seungcheol standing up, touching his hand nervously. Recognition dawned in his mind as he saw Seungcheol giving him a tacit look, pointing at the hall as a signal. They snuck out of the living room, made their way into Seungcheol’s room, and Jisoo tripped over right when Seungcheol turned on the lights.

“Are you always this clumsy when it comes to work?” Seungcheol grinned as he dropped himself on the floor next to Jisoo, leaning his back against the bed.

“Normally, no. Last time I came here, this happened too. I think this flat doesn’t like me.” Jisoo pouted, which made Seungcheol’s grin widen.

“How can people hate someone like you?” He wondered. “They have to teach me to man. And surely I’m not a fast learner. Or a good student. Whatever.”

Jisoo stuck out his hand to linger his fingers on Seungcheol’s cheeks. “You really dragged us into your room just for some shitty chit-chats?”

Seungcheol rubbed Jisoo’s hand back, slowly closing his eyes, as if he was trying to make Jisoo’s soft touch linger a little longer. “What do you want to do then?”

“Not shagging; fuck Mingyu anyway.” Jisoo mumbled, then he used the other free hand to stroke Seungcheol’s leg. “Tell me about you. And your crew.”

“Figured you would ask about that eventually.” Seungcheol beamed. Then he changed his position, straightening his back, his eyes became dreamy as he said. “We had been living together for millennia. Since lives appeared on this planet. I was alone firstly, wandering all over the land for so long I lost track of time, but then I met Jihoon and Soonyoung. Mingyu joined later, when The Cretaceous came to an end. At first, there were twists and tricks, of course, but they weren’t big enough to create a representative. Not until about sixty five million years ago? That was when Mingyu was born. The extinction of the dinosaurs created him, and we live together until the very first humans showed up.”

“So you guys are the first human beings on Earth.” Jisoo concluded.

“No. Really, just ignore what Jihoon, Soonyoung and Mingyu said, we are really not.” Seungcheol replied. “We might look like all of you, but deep inside, we are different. We are only representatives. It was kinda surreal, but we represented abstract notions in people’s mind. You can call it symbiosis. We and this humanity needed each other in order to live, both of us will die if the other one dies.” Jisoo nodded dumbly, but he was more focused on Seungcheol’s history, rather than trying to make out his meaning to life. “So,” Seungcheol continued. “It was not until The Black Death that I decided to isolate myself from everyone.” Jisoo’s hand on Seungcheol’s cheek froze, but he let out a sigh. “I was terrified. Too much people died, too much people were buried at the same time. And I know that wasn’t Mingyu’s fault. It was just me bringing that damn disease to Europe. I have to follow the Cycle, yes, but killing _that much_? The Cycle never includes that. So does my mind. Therefore, I locked myself up. Hiding in a room, even trying to stay away from Jihoon, Soonyoung and Mingyu. I know I was unfair to them, but I _had_ to. If not…” he bit his bottom lip. “I could have burnt out alive.”

Those last words made Jisoo shiver. He could easily imagine that—Seungcheol’s frame was ablaze, red angry flames licked his skin like an insidious devil, and this Earth was drowned in pure catastrophe. That was terrible. Jisoo had killed people before, it was a part of his job anyway—but he just killed if that was necessary, not serially like The Black Plague. And worse, it was Seungcheol who did it. Without intention.

“And since then, everything around me changed.” Seungcheol smiled bitterly. “The boys had helped, and eventually I could talk to them normally, but I never come closer to people anymore. Too much things happened back then; wars, diseases, the two World Wars, HIV and bombing and all, it seemed like death was everywhere.” His lips were swollen from biting too much, and Jisoo just wanted to kiss it so bad. “Sometimes I think maybe I don’t deserve to exist, you know. But Mingyu always protests that. Do you know his slogan? _Everyone needs Jihoon and Soonyoung to exist, but they need me to survive, and they need you to move on with their new lives_.” Jisoo smiled at that, remembering a few months back, Mingyu had actually said that to him, without the last clause.

With that Mingyu mention, he suddenly recalled some of his words that he had accidentally forgotten up to then. “Mingyu said that he only made the tricks; that killing was the other’s job, not his. And it ended up to be yours.”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol agreed weakly. “Took you so long to realize that, eh? Death and sickness are frequent lovers, Jisoo. They love each other passionately, but the chemistry would be damn strong if it got big enough. And I was the in-between then? I took the two responsibilities. A harsh job, I tell you; seeing people passing away, knowing that it was you who did it, it’s not comfortable for me, never ever is.” He finally looked at Jisoo, his unsmiling face made Jisoo’s heart clench. “And some day, I will have to witness yours too. Bet that was harder than any death I’ve ever seen.”

Jisoo sucked in a breath, afraid that every word he attempted to say could break Seungcheol into a million pieces. So he decided to do the only thing he thought he was capable of; tracing his fingers along Seungcheol’s jawline until they reached the deepest point of his jaw. He gently tugged Seungcheol’s face lower, as he leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together before colliding his lips on the other boy’s.

He could feel every muscle inside Seungcheol tensing up, could feel his own bloodstream quickening under Seungcheol’s eager fingers roaming over his nape. Just like their first night together, Seungcheol’s hand rubbing Jisoo’s nape gently, like he was afraid that Jisoo would break if he moved more roughly. But then Seungcheol sighed, and he kissed Jisoo back. They lips caressed each other, moving along without any true rhythm, just lips touching lips, fingers intertwining, Seungcheol moving above Jisoo until one of his leg falling in between Jisoo’s legs. They kept kissing even they were in the most comfortable or not, Seungcheol did not let go of Jisoo’s mouth.

There was something bittersweet that Jisoo tasted in Seungcheol’s lips, the savor of an old man mixing up with a teenage boy’s one. Jisoo’s back brushed the rag slightly, made him a bit itchy, but he did not give a fuck; he touched Seungcheol’s flushing cheek tenderly, and it was too much. Seungcheol was too much for him, like a diffluent cup of whisky, and Jisoo was so plastered he undressed all of his armor, his shields, let the boy touch his bare self, trusting him enough not to burn him out alive.

Fuck, he was really plastered, wasn’t him?

Finally, when Seungcheol had to break the kiss to catch his breath, his face was red as a tomato. He let out a breathless laugh, then sealed their lips together again. This time, the kiss did not last long; Seungcheol left Jisoo’s lips after seconds, and he pinned Jisoo’s nose instead.

“You fucking drive me insane.” said Jisoo shakily, as he tried to steady his breaths.

And Seungcheol just laughed in respond. “You think you do not do the same to me?”

 

 

 

5.

 

Although at that point, Jisoo had met the too-dysfunctional-to-be Fantastic Four like a hundred times or so, he thought this meeting was the most interesting.

Because his mission took place in Bucharest, so he had to fly to Romania and stayed there for “at least one month”—that was what Seokmin told him. “I know you are having romance issues, but this time we all really count on you.” Seokmin gave him a guilty look, before turning his head to the wide 3D screen and kept informing. “Remember that time in Argentina? We have been following their track since then, and we have finally located their base; it is in Bucharest, Romania.” Seokmin was definitely no joking, because for the first time, he looked dead serious that Jisoo could not open his mouth to protest. “We need you to come to Romania, spying their base and collecting any useful information back here. Please consider, Jisoo.” Seokmin never begged, not with Jisoo. His pride was too damn high to do so. But then, he looked like he would kneel down if Jisoo asked, just to persuade Jisoo to take the case.

And Jisoo, being _Jisoo_ , agreed to fly to fucking Romania, to stay at fucking Bucharest for _four weeks_ , and he was absolutely unsure whether he would succeed or not. The last mission in Argentina was completely a disaster; Seokmin had to bring him out of Bueno Aires and passed the mission to the other agent, because Jisoo was found out and got beaten so hard he was sore for weeks; maybe the gang had known his face, so taking the case was kind of risky to him.

But Jisoo was just being Jisoo. He agreed. He _fucking_ agreed. And yes, there were four weeks without Seungcheol were waiting for him in Bucharest. He was so damn fucked.

He even did not have the chance to say goodbye to Seungcheol. The last night before the flight, he had hugged Seungcheol tightly, so tight that even Seungcheol had to breathe into his ear _what’s wrong with you_ , but Jisoo just brushed it off with a shrug _nevermind_. He kissed Seungcheol several times, trying to memorize his face for the next four weeks of vacant space on the bed, all alone and insecure in Bucharest, not sure if he came home none the worse for wear.

And that, that was why he did not tell Seungcheol.

He could imagine it; Seungcheol received the news about his tragic death, and he would come back to his shell under the door of his room, never keeping in touch with this world ever again. He was not sure if Jihoon, Soonyoung, or Mingyu could help, but the look Seungcheol gave him became more tender day by day, and maybe he knew the answer.

No one. Could save him. No one. Ever.

The first week in Bucharest passed with very little information Jisoo could find about the gang. He kept in touch with Seokmin until Sunday, when he finally sent all the data he had collected the past few days to Seokmin, he shut down his Vaio, turned off his phone, cutting off every connections between him and the world outside.

Bucharest was cloudy and cold, but no rains. The city looked old, the sort of places that Jisoo never wanted to visit. It looked too political, too industrial, and he felt suffocated. It was like diving in an abyss deep down the sea, with no air tank. And he would probably die before reaching the deepest point of the rift.

He did not say it out loud, but he missed Seungcheol, so much it fucking hurt. It had been just two or three months, and he was unfamiliar with the bed without Seungcheol lying next to him already. The vast empty space around him seemed strange, seemed _wrong_. He never belonged to this. He belonged to the Death Boy sneaking into his flat at midnight, hugged him from behind, whispering to him soft and loving words; he belonged to the lazy kiss in the morning, the encouraging kiss at noon, the gentle kiss in the afternoon, and the passionate kiss at night.

Bucharest was just hell. Because Seungcheol was nowhere to be found—

Jisoo teared his hair nervously, cursing under his breath every dirty word he knew, and then he slumped in his bed boredly, rubbing his eyes and decided to take a nap instead. Maybe blocking himself from this fucking world was what he really needed right then.

 

—

 

“This is fucking illegal, I tell you!”

“And whose false is it to force me to do this? Like I volunteered to break into his house!”

Jisoo woke up to someone—someone _s_ —yelling to each other, rough sounds banging against his bedroom door. He was still sleepy, but he was lucid enough to recognize the voices. One week in Bucharest, all working and spying did not really brush all of his memories away apparently.

Befriending with Jihoon and his dysfunctional friends meaned never getting surprised anymore. Just making the way through the stairs, yawning wearily and asking once the foot had touched the ground. “Why did you guys come here?”. And that was exactly what Jisoo did, as he spotted the three boys were all in the living room of his hotel flat.

“Hey, Jisoo!” Mingyu was the first one to shout his name and leaned to squeeze him. “Thought you had abandoned us and decided to make a fresh start in somewhere faraway from us!”

“Twat.” Jihoon muttered. He looked at Jisoo and beamed. “I’m sorry. I have told them that you probably have some important missions you have to go abroad to solve, but they just did not listen to me and decided to give you a visit. Are you okay man? Seungcheol wanted to call you to make sure that you are okay, but I forced him not to call you ‘til weekends.”

“You look like shit.” Soonyoung commented. He gave Jisoo a bar of chocolate and added. “Eat this. God, you seemed like you haven’t slept for the whole week.”

“I haven’t, really.” Jisoo admitted. He dropped on the couch and let out a sigh, slumping his head on Jihoon’s lap, looking indefinitely at the ceiling. “Where is Seungcheol? Isn’t he coming with you guys?”

“That lovebird had left early in the morning, and we could not found out where he is.” Jihoon replied, rubbing Jisoo’s forehead gently. “He missed you a lot, Jisoo. He was damn worried the first day you were gone, and he was upset that you did not tell him about your trip, and he just moped around the house for the last few days until he disappeared this morning. Mingyu said that maybe he had came here by himself, but you haven’t seen him either?”

Jisoo shook his head, which made Jihoon’s smile dissipate.

“We will find him soon.” Soonyoung promised. He grabbed Jisoo’s hand and tugged his lips a bit, enough to curved into a small grin. “If you need any help, then we’re here to give you a hand, alright? And then Batman and Black Widow will come back to each other, like every happy ending in the fairytale!”

“Oh, just fuck off, Soonyoung.” Jisoo murmured, but he laughed anyway. It was hard to resist Soonyoung’s optimism. He was like sunshine and rainbow after a long dark rainy day, bringing hope and love to people, and although Jihoon always told him not to care about his rigmarole, or Mingyu always brushed off Soonyoung’s jokes by pissing him off with his pranks, he knew they loved Soonyoung, as much as he did.

“You really changed Seungcheol’s life, Jisoo.” Jihoon said, his fingers still tried to catch eath other between Jisoo’s hair. “In the way that no one could before, even us. I’m glad you two are together, though Seungcheol still denies it whenever we bring up the topic. He’s just shy, damn Seungcheol and his dignity. But he represented you guys, so I guess those feelings are usual, yeah? People become silly when they fall in love. You and him just need to get the right rhythm then.”

Jisoo nodded. He tried to ignore that fist clenching up inside his heart as Jihoon’s words started to repeat in his head, before he noticed something wrong in Jihoon’s saying. “What was that _represented you guys?_ I thought it were you who represented this humankind?”

The three boys were all silent, even after Jisoo had done asking. He looked around them, unsure of what was going on, but then Mingyu nudged Jihoon, yet Jihoon was still motionless. No one said a thing. They even did not move, like they had turned into statues.

And Jisoo’s question just remained unanswered.

 

 

+1.

 

Yeah. It was true, really. Hong Jisoo was the most unlucky man ever in the world.

Lee Seokmin was damn right about him. Whenever he was—Bueno Aires or Bucharest, Argentina or Romania—he was always found out eventually. He was so close—the transfer process had just done, he had just put the USB in his vest pocket before someone’s hand grabbed his collar behind his back and jerked him roughly, kicking Jisoo down to the ground. He was brought to an empty room, and they started to beat him, like he was a ragged doll or something. Having nothing to lose anymore, Jisoo just needed to keep the USB inside his pocket safe and sound, as long as those dorks did not find out, then he would regret nothing.

Except. Except _Seungcheol_.

Somewhere between those rough punches and dirty words pouring all over him, Jisoo remembered Seungcheol’s gentle fingers, his soft expression, and a wide smile that seemed to lighten this whole world up. The world that had been dark for so long Jisoo could not find the way out anymore and chose to get stuck in it instead. It was just peaceful days lacing their fingers together, or serene nights pulling him into a kiss and sleeping together, brushing off the world all aside. Those little moments, Jisoo felt like there was nothing else but he and Seungcheol, lost boys trying to find way back to their own Neverland, their safe haven among a cold and flat world.

And how painful it was—only at that moment, getting closer and closer to the death, did Jisoo finally realize how much he loved Choi Seungcheol.

It was love at first sight, maybe? At that night, when he was alone as usual, and suddenly there was a stranger sitting next to him, telling him that everything is okay and he did not have to worry about a thing? He was in so much hurt that he did not even realize he was brought up in the air, and a hand was shoved into his pocket, roaming through his equipments until it grabbed the USB—

He wanted to fight back, but how? If they got the USB, then he would be absolutely dead.

Miracles did not appear—

His head hurt like a bitch—

It was suffocating, someone was gripping his neck roughly, like trying to drain all of his energy away, until he was nothing but a dead corpse. Bucharest was his graveyard then, because there was no way could he survive this. Mingyu’s trick this time was so cruel, and he was not lucky enough to—

But then he felt the grip loosened. There was someone shouting, and Jisoo was too tired to make it out clearly. The next thing he knew, he was slammed into the ground, the pain bloomed inside his body, and he had been prepared for the next kicks and punches, but there was nothing.

Nothing.

Just earlier pain silently made its way throughout his torso.

There were screams everywhere, and Jisoo could not tell whose voice was it. A small black device was dropped next to him, and even his vision was fucking blurred, he still recognized that thing.

 _The USB._ His whole life right then.

He tried to reach out one of his bruised arm to get the device, but someone’s hand—soft and dry—picked it up. And the next thing he knew, _Choi Seungcheol_ was kneeling in front of him, like a daylight delusion. Or Jisoo was already dead, and this was his afterlife dream.

He smiled at that thought. Was Death this beautiful? No wonder Seungcheol was really attractive back then. If this was Death, then he would be definitely okay with it.

Anywhere with Seungcheol is absolutely fine to him.

“You saved me.” He whispered, his voice sounded rough and ruined, but really, did he need to care about that?

“I saved you.” It was Seungcheol for no doubt; even his head ached so much he could not think at all, he still realized the voice; the lullaby at dusk, the melody at dawn. His wish earlier when he was beaten ceasingly by the fucking gang. And God bless him, his wish was fulfilled.

“Was this Mingyu trick?” He asked, too insane to control any word coming out of his mouth. “Was this all his prank? Lulling me into some paranoia, where I got mad just to reveal my true feelings to you? That I love you so much it hurt more than this?” He was rambling then, but he needed to; as if he stopped, he would no longer be alive, he would be drowned in an ocean of despair. “Jihoon… he told me about you, you know. About you representing _me_ , and this whole _humanity_. Ridiculous, eh? You are the _Illness_. You are not my Creator, or anyone’s goddamn Creator, yet Jihoon said it was you who represented our fucking eight billion population—I love you, Seungcheol—I fucking miss you—just, just—”

There was something soft and delicate brushing against his tumefied lips, and he felt himself trembling all over; his vision finally was cleared, and there was Seungcheol’s face, so close to him that Jisoo could count every eyelash overcasting his eyes. He was still lying on the ground when Seungcheol broke the kiss suddenly and stood up, his face was so broken—that hurt expression Jisoo never saw in Seungcheol before.

He wondered if that was how Seungcheol looked like when The Black Death, and all those wars, disasters happened, took away too much lives Seungcheol never wanted to kill.

Seungcheol did not say anything until he grabbed the doorknob. Even there was a distance between them, he still could hear it clearly, with no haze lingering among.

“It was not Mingyu’s trick, Jisoo.” Seungcheol told him quietly. Jisoo could tell he was quivering; because his voice was shaking, as if he was trying his best not to cry at that moment. “It was even not Mingyu’s trick lulling you into me, as well as I had already fallen for you, too.”

“And me, representing you? Your humankind?” Jisoo hear Seungcheol breathing out a humorless laugh. There was a hint of hurt beneath the sound even. “I am the Illness, Jisoo. Aren’t you humans just _that_?”

And with that, Seungcheol opened the entrance, quickly got out of Jisoo’s sight. Hiding behind the slammed door.

 

 

 

_./._

 


End file.
